


House of Merlin

by lddracula



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lddracula/pseuds/lddracula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On July 3rd 1997, Voldemort stepped into the Ministry of Magic and confessed everything.</p><p>Every murder, every dark ritual, every deception, plot, ambition and lie. He gave the name of every Death Eater, past and present, and not long after, they too, stepped into the Ministry and confessed. Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Bellatrix Black, Fenris Greyback and forty-six others confessed their crimes and voluntarily surrendered.</p><p>The only thing that the press knew, and thus the world, was the the reign of Voldemort was over.</p><p>What they couldn’t figure out was why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings. 
> 
> I've been a long time Harrymort fiend and have dabbled in writting my OTP for over ten years now. I've mostly been RPing with a friend, but have been tinkering at some stand-alone pieces for a bit. This one is all planned out and I have managed to get a good chunk of it written to far. They won't be speedy updates, unfortunately, as I mostly poke at this during down-time at work, but they will come.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

On July 3rd 1997, Voldemort stepped into the Ministry of Magic and confessed _everything._

 

Every murder, every dark ritual, every deception, plot and ambition. He gave the name of every Death Eater, past and present, and not long after, they too, stepped into the Ministry and confessed. Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Bellatrix Black, Fenris Greyback and forty-six others confessed their crimes and voluntarily surrendered.

 

To say that everyone was surprised was an understatement.

 

Their trials were were put on hold, the Minister adamant that all of their crimes were correctly documented and that every misdeed, every crime, murder, theft and offense was accounted for. Aurors worked around the clock to gather as much evidence as they could, working hard to uncover every detail and secret. In the meantime, Azkaban was fuller than it had been in centuries.

 

Rumours and conspiracy theories popped up overnight, ranging from imperious, dark rituals, trickery, and polyjuice, each more ridiculous than the last. Why would Voldemort surrender? Why and _how_ did his Death Eaters follow him to the Ministry? No one knew.

 

The only thing that the press knew, and thus the world, was the the reign of Voldemort was over.

 

What they couldn’t figure out was why.

 

When the news hit the Order, everything went to chaos. Harry had watched in disbelief as normally calm individuals shouted, friends argued and bickered, and people who he had thought logical and intelligent started throwing out insane theories and possibilities. Snape hadn’t said a thing, he hadn’t given a single clue as to what Voldemort had planned, nor did he reveal anything when he himself offered himself to the Ministry.

 

And throughout it all, Dumbledore was quiet. The elder wizard stood out in Harry’s mind as the one silent pillar amongst the chaos. He sat in his chair at the head of the table, a contemplative look on his wizened face as he stroked his white beard, a faint look of hope in his blue eyes.

 

Soon after Dumbledore himself went to the Ministry to stand as Chief Warlock, and Harry saw him sparingly over the next few weeks.

 

The train ride to Hogwarts was uncharacteristically quiet. Ron and Hermione, while curled around each other on the opposite seat, had little to say that the three of them hadn’t already discussed. What should have been a time of celebration was instead rife with confusion. Harry knew that it was over. The war that had killed his parents, countless others and had extended before his birth was over, yet he still felt like something was wrong. He had spent his entire life knowing he was a wizard at odds against Voldemort and suddenly it was over. Ginny had said it was anti-climatic, but Harry didn’t agree. Well, he _did,_ but not in the way that Ginny meant. Ginny had expected a huge battle, the Order standing against an army of Death Eaters and Harry and Voldemort against each other, light against dark. It would have been epic, his friend had smiled at him, filled with fight and the urge to prove herself.

 

That didn’t happen and Harry was glad for that. Enough people had been hurt over protecting him and the last thing he wanted was a battle. He still felt unsettled over the entire thing. Even though Dumbledore had assured them that Voldemort had actually surrendered, Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

Part of his unease was that Voldemort was scheduled to be executed that day. It had been all over the news and the subject the Order had not been able to stop talking about.  While it would not be public, it had been extended to the media and the wizarding world had sighed a breath of relief when it was over. It was the only thing the students on the train could talk about, the cars alternating between chatter, celebrations and sullen silence from those whose parents had been Death Eaters.

 

Before he knew it, Harry had fallen into an uneasy sleep with his forehead pressed against the cool planes of glass from the window. He dreamed of a wall of darkness. It stretched out in front of him in either direction,  cool and sturdy as glass, but opaque and thick. With nothing to guide him, Harry walked beside the wall, fingers gliding along smoothness, curious to where it might lead him, but it went on forever, impenetrable and guarded.

 

After what seemed like forever his fingers caught on a lip, the unexpected roughness startling him into stopping. At first glance he didn’t see anything, even though his fingers could feel the thin flaw in the wall. Curious, he traced the crack with his fingers, following it up the wall as far as he could reach before settling back down on his heels. Pulling back, he frowned, then reached out to touch again, but startled at the touch to his shoulder.

 

Hermione was leaning over him, her face pinched in annoyance. “Wake up, Harry. We arrived five minutes ago and you haven’t even changed.”

 

“What?” He groaned, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

 

“We’re at Hogsmeade,” the witch sighed, exasperated. “Get changed, we’re not waiting for you.”

 

“Cut him some slack, ‘mione,” Ron whined. “He was up all night.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” She snapped. Catching Harry’s startled expression, she softened. “Sorry, Harry. Just hurry up, please?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, jumping up to pull his bag out from the shelf. “I’ll catch up in a second, you guys go ahead.”

 

Waiting until Hermione closed the door behind her, Harry quickly pulled his worn t-shirt off followed by jeans and trainers. Smoothing the wrinkles down as best he could, he stuffed his clothes back into his bag before stepping out. The corridor was thankfully empty as he jogged over to the exit.

 

Stumbling down the step less than gracefully, Harry weaved his way through the lingering students to where the carriages were sitting. Contrary to her words, Hermione and Ron were waiting for him and waved him over.

 

“You waited,” Harry grinned, settling in beside Neville who was crouched over a something in his lap.

 

“We couldn’t just leave you, mate.” Ron returned his grin, jostling when the carriage started. Hermione crossed her arms and harrumphed.

 

“Has anyone seen Malfoy yet?” Ron asked after their conversation had trailed off. “Usually can’t go without seeing the git on the first day.”

 

“He arrived earlier this week,” Neville pipped in, lifting his head allowing Harry to see that he actually had a potted plant cradled on his lab.

 

“How do you know that?” Ron accused, eyes narrowed as he glared at Neville. “You been fraternizing with the enemy?”

 

“He’s not the enemy,” Neville returned Ron’s glare. “I know because I was here too with my gran. We had a meeting with Professor McGonagall.”

 

“About what?” Hermione asked, her curiosity spiking.

 

“An apprenticeship,” Neville beamed, squaring his shoulders in pride. “Professor Sprout offered to apprentice me in Herbology. I start this year.”

“Congrats, Neville!” Harry grinned, clapping his fellow Gryffindor on the back. “That’s amazing.”

 

“Thanks,” Neville said, ducking his head at the praise.  “I could hardly believe it myself.”

 

They spent the rest of the ride talking to Neville about his apprenticeship. As they approached the castle, the sun begun to set and set the sky in a brilliant display of colours.

 

 _This is it,_ Harry thought. _My last year at Hogwarts._ The thought filled him with trepidation. Much to Hermione’s consternation he did not know what he wanted to do after he graduated. He hadn’t applied to any other schools, nor had he looked further into the Auror training program. He wasn’t even sure if he still wanted to become an auror.  He was considering simply spending a year travelling to get a feel for the world outside of Britain. There was so much that he still didn’t know or understand and felt that he wouldn’t until he was able to explore on his own.

 

Pulling up to the castle, the four of them descended and mixed into the throng of classmates, chortling greetings and howdowells. Filling into the Great Hall on the first night back never failed to steal Harry’s breath away. The enchanted ceiling shone brightly, intent on making an impression on the newest arrivals to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 

Taking their seats, Harry ignored Ron bemoaning how hungry he was and instead shared a smile with Ginny who had sat herself in across from him. “Think Dumbledore will  be back in time?”

 

“What do you mean?” He asked, gaze shifting over to the professor’s table and settling on the empty seat. “I thought he’d be back in time for the school year.”

 

“Guess not,” Ginny shrugged, catching the eye of someone over Harry’s shoulder and waving them down.

 

Once the room was settled, the door opened to reveal Professor McGonagall and the group of  nervous first-years trailing after her like ducklings.

 

“Think we looked like that?” Ron whispered beside him. “Doe-eyed and bushy-tailed?”

 

“Just you,” Harry laughed, ribbing his best friend. “I think you were intending on catching flies.”

 

“Was not.”

 

“Were --”

 

“Shut up you two,” Hermione scowled. “The sorting is starting.” The witch’s bad mood followed her like a dark cloud all throughout the sorting, then through dinner. Luckily, Harry was saved from further chastising by her Prefect responsibilities. Ron wasn’t so lucky, the redhead shooting Harry a look that screamed ‘save me’ as Hermione dragged him away.

 

“What bug crawled up her arse?” Ginny scowled, sending a dirty look at Hermione’s back. “She’s been a right bitch all summer.”

 

Startled at Ginny’s words, Harry looked up from where he had been absently polishing a tarnished patch on his goblet with his thumb. “Ginny!”

 

“What?” Tossing her long red hair over her shoulder, the youngest Weasley shrugged. “Ever since the Death Eaters surrendered she’s been unbearable.”

 

“It’s been stressful,” Harry defended even as he silently acknowledged her words. “Plus it’s our final year, she’s been focused on preparing for the NEWTS.”

 

“Harry,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Hermione’s been preparing for the NEWTS for _years_ and everything hasn’t been any more stressful on her than on anyone else. Something else is up.”

 

“Like what?” He racked his brain trying to recall when Hermione’s bad mood had started. As far as he could tell, Ginny was right that it seemed right around the time Voldemort had surrendered, but he couldn’t figure out why. It had hit all them when Snape had turned himself in as well, particularly Dumbledore. It had been a shock to them all. Even though they knew of Snape’s past as a Death Eater, Harry hadn’t known any of the details. He had never thought to question what exactly the Death Eaters _did._ While Snape’s confession wasn’t as bad as the others - he couldn’t even finish reading through Bellatrix’s - it was still hefty.

 

While Hermione had mourned Snape as a professor - as awful as he was - Harry didn’t think she was any more invested in him than anyone else. He hadn’t been the most observant of his friends that summer, preoccupied with the conclusion of what was essentially the story of his life, but he could not pinpoint the catalyst to her change.

 

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Ginny had her resolve face on as she sat straight. “She’s making everyone miserable.”

 

“She’s not that bad,” he offered weakly, hardly believing in his words himself.

 

Dumbledore never arrived, but it wasn’t until the next morning that he learned that he had taken a leave. McGonagall explained that something extremely important had taken his full attention and that in the mean-time, she would be stepping up in his place. It wasn’t a surprise to Harry, though the news incited a wave of rumours, the next more ridiculous than the last to swept through the school.

 

Harry ignored them as much he could, though he couldn’t help but wonder. Voldemort was dead, his followers’ trials slowly underway. As Chief Warlock, Dumbledore would be witness to most of those trials as a judge and witness. Briefly he wondered why he was never asked to testify, but had banished the thought. He was not the only victim in the war and Voldemort’s crimes were plain. They did not need him to judge the Dark Lord as guilty.

 

Besides Hermione’s ever increasingly withdrawn presence and harsh attitude, the semester passed by quickly. His professors were not sympathetic to their plights, and each dumped enough work on them to keep everyone busy and then some. Harry barely had time to think about Dumbledore, Ginny’s self-proclaimed mission or Voldemort (for once), too busy trying to uphold a passing grade in most of his classes.

 

By the time Winter Break was a week away, Harry was nearly on the verge of collapse.

 

“I’m dead,” he whined, having collapsed into a worn chair in front of the fire, an arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore more.”

 

On the couch tucked into the corner, Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, but ignored him in favour of flipping a page. Ron, just as exhausted, was half-sprawl on the same couch in a daze as he absently repeated formulas to himself. They had one more test before winter break and it couldn’t come too soon. Idly, he wondered when was the last time he had seen sunlight, falling into a doze as he day-dreamed about flying on his broom.

 

He was startled awake with a shake, the first thought coming his mind was that he must have fallen asleep. The second was he must have failed all of his classes and was getting kicked of school as McGonagall was looming over him, her face pinched and thunderous.

 

“Do wake up, Potter.” The witch chided. “And don’t look so frightened, you’re not in trouble.”

 

Feeling embarrassed at his momentary panic, Harry blinked the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “What is it, professor?” He asked, clearing his throat.

 

McGonagall sighed. “Albus would like to speak with you,” she said reluctantly.

 

“Oh, he’s back?” Happy to hear that the Headmaster had returned, Harry jumped to his feet, drowsiness forgotten.

 

“Not officially,” she explained, turning to glance at Hermione who was listening with interest from her seat. Ron had long fallen asleep and was snoring quietly on the couch. “If you’ll come with me, please.”

 

The trip to Dumbledore’s office was silent, McGonagall leading with a brisk pace that Harry fought to match. The Animagus was, much to his chagrin, taller than him by several inches, even after his pathetic growth spurt that summer. Barely reaching five foot six, Harry had resigned himself to being short while he friends towered over him. Even Hermione and Ginny stood taller than him, something which the redhead pointed out to him often.

 

Having reached the Gargoyle standing guard, McGonagall said the password and Harry watched at the statue jumped out of the way to reveal the staircase. Stepping forward, Harry realized that the witch hadn’t moved from where she had stopped. “Professor? Aren’t you coming?”

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Albus is waiting for you, don’t keep him waiting. And I expect you back in the common-room before curfew,” she added, giving him one last considering look before turning away.

 

“Right,” he muttered to himself, watching as the professor walked away. “Not weird at all,” he murmured as he ascended the stairs.

 

The door was closed at the top, and at Harry’s knock, creaked open. Sliding through, the first thing he saw was the familiar sight of Dumbledore sitting behind his desk. The elderly wizard smiled at his entrance, standing to greet him in buttery-yellow robes. “Harry, do come in.” Ushering the younger wizard in, Dumbledore retook his seat. “Have a seat my boy,” he offered, gesturing towards a plush purple chair to Harry.

 

“Professor, where--” Suddenly realizing that they were not alone, Harry froze, one hand reaching out towards the offered chair. Over in the corner stood a familiar man, tall and slender, he was easy to miss among the busy clutter that littered the headmaster’s office. He was wearing nondescript robes, black and forgettable, but his blue eyes stood out from his handsome face, startlingly bright and not something Harry would ever forget.

 

“Ah, I see you’ve recognized Tom. I wasn’t sure you would,” Dumbledore chattered, seemingly oblivious that Voldemort was standing in his office.

 

Harry’s mind stuttered for only a second, his hand flying back to his side as if he had burned himself. “Th-this is impossible,” he stumbled over his words, hand slipping into the pocket of his robes to grip his wand. “You’re dead!”

 

“I’m afraid reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,” Voldemort replied, voice entirely too smooth and _normal_ to belong to a mass-murderer. Behind his desk, Dumbledore chortled, picking up a tray of lemon-drops and popped one into his mouth.

 

“It’s quite a tale, my boy.” Dumbledore explained, replacing the tray. “Have a seat and I’ll explain as much as I can.”

 

Green eyes flitted between Voldemort and Dumbledore, but he didn’t move. “You can’t be serious.”

 

The headmaster’s face gentled. “I’m afraid I am, Harry. It is indeed strange and trying times. Tom is no danger to you, I promise.”

 

“But-” he protests were cut off with a jangle, Voldemort shifting to raise his arms from where they were hidden by his robes and reveal the shackles circling his wrists. Even with the distance between them Harry could see the glowing runes carved into the metal. Snapping his mouth closed, he watched as Voldemort lowered his hands again, covering the chains.

 

“Merely a precaution,” Dumbledore assured Harry. “They were Tom’s idea, actually. As clever as he is, he can’t break out of those without the key.”

 

Reluctantly, Harry took the seat, but didn’t take his eyes off of Voldemort. As much as he trusted Dumbledore he just could _not_ believe that anything could have happened that justified Voldemort being alive and in Hogwarts. “Was all that a lie then?” He found his mouth running away from him without his consent. “You didn’t really surrender to the Ministry?”

 

Voldemort returned Harry’s stare with guarded blue eyes, head tilted at an angle that made Harry feel like he was being dissected, picked apart. “That happened,” he said finally, tall body shifting in a way that made the chains around his wrist rattle and robes shift. “Everything except my execution happened.” He didn’t elaborate even though Harry felt like he had a million questions, the more foremost was _why_. Why had he surrendered? Why did the Death Eaters follow? Why was he spared when so many of victims had not been given that chance?

 

Uncomfortable, Harry pulled his gaze away from the man who had haunted his dreams for too long to look at the headmaster. Dumbledore was watching them with interest, a speculative gleam in his eyes that made Harry wary. He knew the elderly wizard well enough to know he was just as crafty as any Slytherin and just as prone to mischief as Fred and George were.

 

“Why am I here?” He asked instead, deciding to ignore the Dark Lord in the corner. If Dumbledore believed those manacles could contain Voldemort’s magic then he would trust him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of physical violence, but nothing Harry knew of the man told him that he ever got his hands dirty. Frowning, the thought reminded him just how _little_ he knew of Voldemort, but pushed that musing away. It didn’t matter.

 

“Straight to the point today,” Dumbledore smiled, still sucking on his lemon-drop. “First, I need you to understand that much that has occurred in your life between yourself and Tom has stood pivotal, leading to this moment. As much as I hoped for a peaceful ending, I hadn’t dared hope.” Shifting his eyes from Harry, Dumbledore shared a look with Voldemort, leading Harry to wonder what sort of conversions that two of them had held. “Certain information has come to light,” Dumbledore continued, giving Harry a sad look. “I had hoped to spare for you from further involvement, Harry. Your fight is over, but there is only one more step before you can truly be free.”

 

“Er,” Harry stuttered, suddenly feeling nervous at the finality of the headmaster’s words. “You’re not going to obliviate me, are you?”

 

Dumbledore chuckled, “no, my dear boy. Nothing so drastic. Remember when I told you that Tom had left a part of his magic within you?” At Harry’s slow nod, he continued. “Tom is going to take it back. It will sever that bond between the two of you.”

 

At Dumbledore’s words anxiety filled Harry almost to an overwhelming degree. Clenching the material of his robes in his suddenly sweaty hands, Harry fought down the urge to run. He should be thrilled that he would finally be rid of the connection between him and his parent’s murderer, but he didn’t feel it. In his trepidation he hadn’t heard Voldemort approach him until a gentle breeze from his movement brushed his skin, startling him. Looking up, it was to Voldemort holding out his hands in front of him in supplication.

 

“I thought you couldn’t do magic with those on?” His voice was weak and he felt himself go warm at Voldemort’s proximity.

 

“This doesn’t really involve magic,” Voldemort admitted, his eyes knowing as Harry squirmed in his chair. “I do need to touch you, though. May I?”

 

Remembering the pain that Voldemort’s touch had caused him the last time he had touched him, Harry hesitated. “Will it hurt?” His voice was small as he tried not to think about how close Voldemort was and how good he smelled.

 

“I… don’t know,” Voldemort admitted, his hands dropping slightly as if he was disappointed in himself. “It shouldn’t, but I don’t know for sure.”

 

“It has to be done, Harry,” Dumbledore cut in, his previous joviality gone and replaced by something much more solemn.

 

Even if it hurt he wanted to connection gone, even if something small and dark inside of him (Voldemort’s magic) fought and scratched and _begged_ for him to keep it. He nodded. “Okay.”

 

With more gentleness than Harry thought Voldemort was capable of, soft hands cupped his cheeks. Voldemort’s fingers were cool, and none of the expected pain accompanied them at the touch. Surprised, Harry looked up to catch blue eyes with his own. Voldemort’s brows furrowed in concentration and his lips moved silently, forming words that he couldn’t quite catch. Suddenly Harry’s vision dimmed and his head felt light, like he was about to faint. Vaguely he realised that Voldemort was bracing him as he swayed in his seat, one hand having moved from where it had cupped his cheek to grasp his arm.

 

There was pressure, great blinding pressure that felt like a million sharp nails digging into his skin and just as he felt like he was going to scream, it was gone. When he opened his eyes (he didn’t even know he had closed them), Voldemort was back against the wall where he had been standing before, his attention focused on his hands. Disorientated, Harry shook his head and wonder why he felt like something was missing.

 

“Are you alright?” Dumbledore asked, smiling gently at Harry’s confused expression.

 

“I… think so?” He replied, relaxing into the cushy-chair. He did feel _fine,_ physically, but there was an ache within him, something heavy and tinged with sorrow. It felt like he had lost a friend, like that twist of inevitability had taken root and he couldn’t quite shake it.

 

Dumbledore looked at Harry from over his half-moon glasses, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Have a lemon-drop,” he offered, gesturing to the glass dish on the table. “It will help.”

 

Obliging, Harry silently picked up a bright-yellow candy and popped it into his mouth, surreptitiously stealing a glance towards the man in the corner. Voldemort was still studying his hands, his fringe, long and a dark brown, hung over his eyes. For the first time since his Diary and the ordeal with the Chamber of Secrets, he looked vulnerable.

 

The candy helped. The sourness of the lemon burst on his tongue, and almost immediately Harry felt a wave of calmness settle in his bones. He was sure the candies were laced with some sort of potion, but he found that he appreciated the gesture.

 

“Now,” the headmaster murmured softly, interrupting Harry’s thoughts and stealing his attention once again. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left and comment of kudos on the first chapter. Getting those emails telling me that people like HoM never failed to make me smile. 
> 
> This chapter isn't quite as... exciting as the last one. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. :)

The headmaster was quiet for a moment, seemingly to gather his thoughts to put into words. “When I first met Tom, many many years ago I knew immediately he would be remarkable.”

 

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort drew Harry’s eyes once again to the Voldemort. The wizard had tucked his hands away behind his robes once more, his attention fixed on Dumbledore. Harry was struck suddenly at how much  _ younger _ he now looked. He had appeared young before, younger than Harry knew he actually was, but now with his fringe no longer covering his face Harry could see the youthfulness of his features. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought Voldemort was in his thirties, not the seventy he should be.

 

“Remarkable,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the Slytherin heir’s interruption with an amused smile. “It shouldn’t have surprised me that Tom’s gift caught the eye of others hoping to use him and his power for their own purposes. If I had been able put my own pride aside…”

 

“No,” Voldemort interrupted. “My actions were my own and culminated far earlier than you know.” Holding his gaze with Dumbledore’s, Voldemort didn’t back down, two very stubborn wills clashing. Harry watched with wide-eyed wonder. 

 

Finally, Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes. “Regardless,” he continued. “Someone especially dangerous took a liking to Tom and upon rejection, retaliated.”

 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked when Dumbledore paused. “He… attacked?” Green eyes flicked over to Voldemort before he could stop himself, flushing when he met the blue of his (former?) enemy. Cursing himself, Harry pulled his eyes away to focus on a gently humming object on Dumbledore’s desk.

 

“No, my boy,” Dumbledore answered, sounding infinitely weary. “He did something much worse, he destroyed his humanity.”

 

“You can do that?” Harry asked, voice coloured with doubt. His brows furrowed as he rolled the concept over in his mind. It was hard to swallow and honestly, Harry thought it sounded more like an excuse. So what if Voldemort lacked humanity, that didn’t excuse him from murdering, from breaking apart families and loved ones. There was no doubt in his mind that Voldemort was - was  _ still _ \- insane, he had to be. He remembered all too well the few times he had slipped into Voldemort’s mind, or the excruciating times the Dark Lord had forcibly entered his, and there had been nothing by pain and madness. Even looking as he did now, pale and human, Harry doubted if the Dark Lord held a sense of humanity, of compassion.

 

But to steal someone’s humanity? That concept that made someone human? Even as a student Harry knew that Voldemort had been cruel, that he had murdered. How could anyone taking away his humanity have made him worse?

 

“I didn’t think it was possible either,” the headmaster admitted, picking up another lemon drop. “If I hadn’t seen it myself I would not have believed it either. Tom has always had darker inclinations and his transition to Dark Lord didn’t seem out of character for him, which I realized far too late.”

 

Voldemort sighed, a long and exasperated sound that made Harry think that their opinions differed on that subject and that it had been, and would be, debated to death. It seemed crazy to him that Voldemort wouldn’t have sought the title of Dark Lord if his humanity hadn’t been lost.

 

“So, what then?” Harry found himself asking. “Did he just… get it back? Is that why he surrendered?”

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Dumbledore replied, but didn’t elaborate. “What is important is that Tom’s sanity has returned to him and that the machinations of this dangerous individual has come to light.”

 

“Who is he, then?” Harry asked, his stomach sinking. If this person was enough to scare both Dumbledore and Voldemort then they must be powerful.

 

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Voldemort’s tone was mocking, causing Harry to bristle at his tone.

 

“How can you not know?” Harry shot back as he glared at the older wizard, his anger causing his neck and cheeks to flush red. “Didn’t bother to get the name of the man trying pick you up?”

 

“You--!” Voldemort growled, chains rattling as he clenched his fists. The runes on the manacles flashed as his magic surged, reminding Harry heavily that even though Voldemort was chained, he was still dangerous.

 

“Boys,” Dumbledore coughed, hiding a smile behind his hand. “Now is not the time. Harry, we can only speculate who this person is, but he has hidden his identity well. As to  _ why _ he has returned, we do not know. All we can do is sit and wait.”

 

Scowling, Harry crossed his arms and decidedly did  _ not  _ pout. “Is there anything else, sir?”

 

“No,” the older Gryffindor replied, schooling his face into something more neutral. “We’ll talk again soon, Harry. Don’t stay up too late, you do have a test in the morning.”

 

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Harry rose to his feet. Sending one last uneasy look towards Voldemort, Harry shuffled towards the door. “Goodnight, sir.”

 

“Goodnight, Harry.”

 

His trip back to the Gryffindor common room was uneventful. A quick spell told him it was just before curfew, but the thought that Snape was no longer a presence in the castle to stalk loitering students was a heavy thought in his mind. He would take ten Snapes over Voldemort.

 

The common room was nearly empty when he stepped through the portal. The early darkness sent more of the students to bed early, tired from a combination of a lack of daylight hours and heavy work-load. Ron was no longer sprawled out on the sofa, but Hermione remained. 

 

“What did he want?” The witch asked him, her brown eyes sharp as they followed him inside. Her text books were tucked away beside her and Harry got the feeling that she had been waiting for him.

 

Opening his mouth to answer, Harry found himself at a loss for words. Before he would have told Hermione everything. She had been one of the few that had stuck by him over the years, believing him and  _ helping  _ him, yet he felt reluctance. It had been a hard pill to swallow, but they had grown apart. Increasingly curt and harsh with her words, Hermione had withdrawn from him and Ron. It had been a source of tension between his friends, the couple bickering often with greater frequency and intensity to a point where Harry wondered why they bothered remaining together. 

 

Hermione looked at him now, expectant as she waited. What would her reaction be if he told her that Voldemort lived? She would be livid. She could curse the unfairness of it all and Harry wouldn’t put it past her to try and do something about it. Dumbledore’s reassurances or not, she would try.

 

Which is why he found himself lying. Not to protect Voldemort, but to stop his friend from doing something stupid. At least, that’s what he told himself. “He just wanted to know if I had felt anything when Voldemort was executed.”

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes and Harry fought the urge to fidget. “Is that all?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, finally breaking eye-contact to feign a yawn. “I’m beat - I’m going to turn in, g’night ‘mione.”

 

Hermione didn’t reply, but Harry could feel her suspicious gaze follow him up the stairs.

 

+++

 

The rest of the week flew by. By morning the next day, Harry had all but forgotten his meeting with Dumbledore as his final test of the year loomed. Once it was over, even if Harry felt as if he had scrapped a passing mark by the skin of his teeth, he finally let out of a sigh of relief and relaxed.

 

It wasn’t all smooth, though. After fleeing to his dorm to escape Hermione’s questions he had expected her to corner him the following morning. Instead he barely saw her. Ron was just as confused as he was, the redhead snubbed and ignored even after trying to catch his girlfriend after a class. The witch was too smart for him though and managed to slip by, disappearing into the throng of students between classes.

 

Frustrated, both of them gave up and instead spent the rest of the week ignoring their homework and playing games. 

 

“Mum’s all in a tizzy about having everyone at home,” Ron whined as he trounced Harry at chess, his latest letter from Molly on the table between them. “Even Percy is coming and all she can talk about it making sure there’s enough food and room.” Making a face, scowled at the board. “Can’t believe that git is coming back after everything that happened.”

 

Looking up from where he was mourning the defeat of his last knight, Harry tried suppressing his smile at his best friend’s ire. “At least he apologized.”

 

“Barely.”

 

“I can’t believe her,” Ginny hissed, stomping out of the girl’s dorms to fling herself into the chair beside her brother. “Your girlfriend is a cunt.”

 

“Ginny!” Ron scowled, game momentarily forgotten. “What the hell?”

 

“Oh come off it, Ron.” Ginny sneered, “she’s being a prissy self-absorbed bitch. Worse than usual.”

 

“What did she do now?” Harry asked. Ginny had taken her self-imposed mission seriously. At first she had tried acting on the sly, following Hermione around the castle, peering at her from behind the stacks in the library and even going as far as rifling through her trunk- unsuccessfully- in hopes of finding some clue to explain her personality change.

 

Ginny grunted and tossed her long red hair over a shoulder. “She basically implied that because I haven’t been ‘applying’ myself that I’d end up like mum with seven kids and no future.”

 

“What?!” Ron squawked, turning red as he stared at Ginny in angry disbelief.

“It gets worse,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

 

“I can’t believe she’d--”

 

“She did.”

 

“How could she insult mum like that!”   
  


“What about me?” Ginny scowled.

 

Realising he had been gaping, Harry closed his mouth with a snap. Hermione loved Molly and he knew she had admired the Weasley matriarch for raising seven children. He couldn’t possibly believe that his friend had done a complete reversal. “What else did she say?” Harry broke in, catching Ginny’s attention.

Ginny shook her head and finally red blossomed over her skin, turning her as red as her hair as she remembered Hermione’s words. “Nothing good,” she replied, but didn’t elaborate.

 

“I have to break up with her, don’t I?” Slumping into his chair, Ron hung his head back as he stared at the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

 

Ginny sighed. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Ron. But I can’t promise that next time I see her I won’t punch her.” 

 

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the heavy slam of a door reverberating through the common room followed by muffled yelling. The three of them watched as Hermione tore down the stairs from the girl’s dorms, face furious and fists clenched as she marched towards them.

 

She completely ignored Ginny and instead focused on her boyfriend with a focus she usually reserved for facing down a challenge. “We need to talk.”

 

Ron paled for a moment before finding his courage and own anger. Rising, he returned Hermione’s glare. “Yes we do,” he agreed, gesturing for the witch to lead.

 

Hermione turned with a huff, walking briskly as she barely checked to see if Ron was following after her. Squaring his shoulders, Ron followed her out of the common room and into the corridor. 

 

Watching their departure in silence, Harry and Ginny shared a look once they were gone.

 

+++

 

The next morning was sunny but cold. Huddled in his patched jacket, Harry had his hands stuffed into his pockets as he made the trip to Hogsmeade to catch the train back to London. Ron and Ginny were up ahead, the older of the two had barely said a word after returning from talking with Hermione, instead choosing to turn in early. Harry had decided to give him his space, understanding his friend had just ended a relationship that had been important to him. Ginny wasn’t so considerate.

 

He watched as Ginny chattered and needled her older brother, talking about everything and nothing as they plowed through the freshly fallen snow. Part of the reason he had decided to walk alone was being able to enjoy the quiet for a little while longer. As much as he loved the Weasleys, there was never a quiet or dull moment at The Burrow. 

 

“Watch it, Potter!”  A familiar voice sneered just as a quickly moving body crashed into his shoulder from behind. Stumbling, Harry barely kept himself from falling into the snow, scowling as he watched Malfoy walk briskly away, barrelling between Ron and Ginny, uncaring of anyone in his path.

 

Grumbling, Harry tried his best to dig out the snow that had fallen into his shoes, shaking his feet and looking utterly ridiculous. With a sigh, he accepted his wet socks and continued on, catching up to his friends as they entered Hogsmeade.

 

Luckily they didn’t run into Malfoy again as they boarded the train. Harry tried not to think how empty the train car felt without Hermione’s presence, instead he pressed his chilled fingers against his neck to warm them up as he kicked off his trainers. A charm dried his socks, but instead of putting his shoes back on he curled onto the seat, using his jacket as a blanket.

 

“Aren’t you cosy,” Ginny teased, stuffing her body between the wall and Harry’s legs. 

  
“There’s a seat over there,” he pointed out, giving Ginny an annoyed look even though he didn’t really mind.

 

Shrugging her shoulders, the witch made herself comfortable. Harry watched as she pulled out a well-worn romance novel, the pages dog-eared and spine broken, jostling when the train started moving. As it was early, Harry quickly found himself dozing off, dreaming of the familiar nothing just as he had since Voldemort had taken back his magic.

 

The jolt of the train woke him several hours later. Yawning, Harry stuffed his feet back into his trainers as he rubbed the rest of his nap from his eyes. 

 

“Finally,” Ron grumbled as he pulled his own coat on. “I’m starving.”

 

“Some things never changed,” Ginny quipped, smiling as she packed her stuff away.

 

“Nope,” Harry agreed, his own smile on his face, glad to hear Ron breaking his stony silence.

 

Arthur and Molly Weasley were waiting for them on the platform, all smiles and welcoming waves. Beside the couple stood Remus, more subdued but smiling nonetheless.

 

“Remus!” Harry beamed, practically throwing himself into the werewolf’s arms for a hug. 

 

“Hello,” Remus laughed, returning Harry’s embrace with a fervor. “MIssed me, did you?”

 

“Of course,” he replied, pulling back. “Are you coming to the Weasley’s, too?”

 

Remus’ smile dimmed somewhat and his normally bright golden-brown eyes darkened. “Not quite. Actually, neither are you. I am to bring you to headquarters.”

 

“You’ll join us later,” Molly chimed in before Harry could protest, her arms still wrapped around her only daughter. “It’s only for a short while.”

 

“That’s right,” Arthur confirmed, his smile bright as he wrapped his arm around Ron’s shoulders. “You’ll be armit-deep in the chaos of the Burrow in no time.”

 

“Alright…” Harry agreed, stepping back to give his honorary-godfather some space. After exchanging pleasantries and hugs from Molly and Arthur, and promises from his friends, Remus whisked Harry away to apparate just outside headquarters after picking up his trunk.

 

Grimmauld Place was just as gloomy and foreboding as it had been when he left in the summer. Not even the snow or cheery atmosphere of the street seemed to affect it. There were small changes, little repairs, a change in curtains and the front door seemed to have been replaced since his last visit which he noticed right away. It was strange to him. In all the years that the Order worked against Voldemort little was done save for some cleaning, yet in the few months he was away for school more was done to the house then all the years combined.

 

Approaching the front door, Remus placed the flat of his palm on the wood just over the door handle. Harry watched in fascination as lines of power flickered at his touch, flowing like veins through the door and into the house before the click of a lock disengaged and the door opened. 

 

Looking at there werewolf in bemusement, Harry was quickly ushered into the house before he could ask. “Just some extra precautions,” Remus assured him, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

“For what?” Momentarily distracted by the fact that Walburga’s portrait was missing, curtain and all, Harry tripped over the umbrella stand. Bracing himself for the fall, his eyes flew open when strong hands caught him and saved him from face-planting into the floor. Looking up, Harry locked eyes with Voldemort.

 

“For  _ him _ ,” Remus growled, suddenly between Harry and Voldemort, bristling.

 

“Apologies,” Voldemort offered, raising his hands palm up. “I meant no harm.”

 

Peeking around Remus’ body, Harry noted that the Dark Lord still had the manacles around his wrists, the chains lengthened to allow freer movement. Instead of the bulky black robe from their last meeting he was wearing simple, but dated brown trousers and a white button-up. The material was worn and ill-fitting, and barely hid the slenderness of the man’s frame from the way they nearly hung from his body. Voldemort’s hair was still long and shaggy, in desperate need of a trim, and jaw covered in stubble. The combination of the rumpled appearance and beard contrasted everything Harry had ever imagined a Dark Lord to appear. 

 

If Harry had seen him on the street he wouldn’t have given him a second glance.

 

“Of course not,” Remus muttered sarcastically, steering Harry around the shackled dark wizard and further into the house. Once they were out of sight, Remus sighed, his shoulders slumping. Eying his cub from the corner of his eye, the werewolf stopped just in front of the staircase. “He’s a menace,” he explained. “Polite, but a menace.”

 

“I wasn’t expecting him to be here,” Harry carefully broached, unzipping his jacket as the heat of the building started to get to him.

 

Remus sighed again, looking tired and aged beyond his years. “Albus mentioned you had met before, right.” 

 

Harry nodded, “last week. He didn’t tell me much, though.”   
  


“Figures,” the werewolf scowled, running a hand through his greying blond hair. “There’s a meeting this afternoon and everything should be explained then.” When Remus stopped himself even as he looked like he wanted to say more, Harry began to feel the beginnings of concern stir. “Just.. stay away from him, alright?”

 

“I will,” Harry promised, having no intentions of seeking out Voldemort’s company. “Who else is here?”

 

“Moody for one,” Remus said dryly. “Shacklebolt, Tonks, Minerva. Albus left earlier for the Ministry but will return before the meeting.”

 

Ascending the stairs, Harry deposited pulled his trunk from his pocket and cancelled the shrinking charm on it while Remus leaned against the doorframe. “You shouldn’t have to be here for more than a day or two,” he began. “You really shouldn’t have to be here at all. This isn’t your fight.”

 

“That’s what Dumbledore said,” the younger wizard replied as he shrugged off his jacket and pulled off his scarf. “I thought everything would be… normal now.” Harry didn’t know if he should be disappointed or not that he was being involved in this new conflict. He knew it must be serious if Dumbledore had taken custody of Voldemort, but to what end Harry wasn’t sure. Was he protecting Voldemort? Did he need his help? Whatever it was Dumbledore must have seen something redeemable in the Dark Lord, as hard as it was to believe.

 

Remus fell silent as he regarded Harry with sad eyes. “It will happen. I don’t know when, but it will,” he said quietly, shaking his head silently as if to ward off his own bad thoughts. “Now, are you hungry? Tonks made lunch.”

 

+++

 

Lunch turned out to be ham and cheese sandwiches with too much mustard, but they were edible and Harry was hungry so he ate two without complaint. Remus picked at his own sandwich, claiming he had eaten one earlier and wasn’t hungry after Harry had eyed him over his glasses. Chasing down the taste of mustard with a soda, he nearly choked when the door to the kitchen slammed open and Moody walked in, followed by an amused Tonks.

 

The auror was scowling, his wand clenched in one hand as he muttered incomprehensibly. Harry and Remus watched in concern as he stomped over to the ice box, yanked the door open and pulled out a bottle of beer. Tonks simply slipped into the chair across from Remus, her bright hair matching her grin. “He had a run in with our residential Dark Lord,” she explained, picking up a sandwich.

 

Remus barely held back a groan and covered his face with his hands. “What did they break now?”

 

“Nothing,” Tonks chirped, licking a dollop of mustard from her thumb. “Dumbledore arrived just in time.”

 

“Good for nothing waste of space,” Moody growled, moving to stand behind Harry. “Potter!” He barked, startling Harry into jumping in his seat. “What did I say about keeping your wand in your pocket?”

 

“Er,” Harry stammered, quickly pulling his wand from his back pocket to place it on the table. “Not to?”

 

“You need to be vigilant, now more than ever,” emphasizing his words with a cuff to the back of Harry’s head, Moody then twisted the cap off of his bottle. “We have a snake in our midst.”

  
“No need to be dramatic, Alastor.” Dumbledore said by the door, drawing everyone’s attention. “While it seems everyone has congregated in the kitchen, there is more room in the dining room. If you would please follow me, ladies and gentlemen.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait. Excuses include the flu from hell and school/exams. Fingers crossed that the next one doesn't take so long! Hope you like. The end seems kinda wonky to me, so I made edit in the future. Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Also, thanks everyone who has left kudos or a comment!

Finishing his soda, Harry tossed the can into the bin before following Remus out of the kitchen as Dumbledore disappeared up ahead. Behind them, Tonks and Moody brought up the rear, the younger auror chatting the elder’s ear off as they ascended the stairs and into the formal dining room. Unlike the kitchen, which had been repaired enough that Harry could consider it cozy, the dining room was drab and depressing, much like the rest of the house.

At the head of the table sat Dumbledore who was in a quiet discussion with McGonagall, the animagus looking even more severe than usual. Harry didn’t miss how often she would glance towards Voldemort, who was seated on the other side of the table closest to the window, with an unhappy frown. Shacklebolt was there was well, the auror nodding in greeting as they entered.

Suddenly unsure about about his position, Harry hesitated in the doorway as the others seated themselves. In the war against Voldemort his place had been clear. Now, besides some vague information about a man who was after Voldemort, he didn’t know where he stood. As far as he understood his part was over. So what was he doing there?

Realising his hesitance was drawing attention to himself, Harry ducked down with a blush and pulled out a chair beside Remus, not realising until he sat down that it was the seat across from Voldemort. Cursing himself for his stupidity, Harry tried melting into his seat, wishing he could turn invisible.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore began once everyone was seated. “Now that we’re all here we can begin. As all of you know Tom has relinquished himself into my custody over the summer and we have been making great strides to ensure the continuation of his health and well-being. In return he has supplied with us information regarding the dangerous individual who has just recently introduced himself as Merlin.”

“What?” Moody barked, interrupting, his magical eye spinning wildly. “Not only is the nut-job abducting people but he’s calling himself Merlin?”

“Not just that,” Dumbledore explained. “It seems he believes that he is Merlin himself.”

“Ridiculous,” the auror growled, slamming his fist onto the solid wood of the table.

“Where did you come by this information?” Leaning forward over the table, Shacklebolt interrupted Moody before he could continue on his diatribe.

“A young man claiming to be a messenger sent by him arrived at the Ministry this morning. He was able to apparate directly inside the Minister’s office--”

Chaos erupted. The aurors stood from their seats with a shout, frantically demanding answers. Even Remus, normally quiet and subdued joined the fray as everyone started talking at once. Startled, Harry watched in silence as the normally calm adults in his life bickered, throwing theories and questions at Dumbledore and each other.

The only other person not trying to talk over the other was Voldemort. The Dark Lord looked pensive, his hands clasped on the table in front of him as he watched the Order of the Phoenix members argue in amusement. Feeling the weight of Harry’s gaze on him, Voldemort locked eyes with his once rival. Tilting his head in question, a small smirk curled the corner of one lip, transforming his previously passive face to something playful.

Feeling the heat of a blush crawl up the back of his neck, Harry looked away just in time for Dumbledore to rise from his seat to yell out, “Silence!”

Everyone stopped and Harry watched with wide eyes as seven sets of eyes snapped to the elderly wizard at the head of the table.

“As I was saying,” he continued calmly as everyone sat back down, chargrined. “The messenger delivered his message and left just as he came. The incident is under investigation, but--” he glared at Moody who had opened his mouth to comment, “-- not by the auror department. The Minister has assured me that the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries are in charge of this particular… mystery.”

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Harry watched as Voldemort rolled his eyes at Dumbledore’s terrible pun and he fought down a grin.

“How could someone possibly have breached the anti-apparation wards, Albus?” McGonagall commented once the headmaster was finished. “Every possible ward upon ward has been applied to the Ministry, it’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” Voldemort’s smooth voice interrupted, capturing everyone’s attention. “Simply very difficult.”

“What are you saying?” Shacklebolt demanding, eyes narrowed at the manacled Dark Lord.

“I’m saying,” he drawled, returning the auror’s glare, “that perhaps the messenger didn’t apparate at all. If he employed some other manner of teleportation then he could easily bypass the wards specifically tuned towards apparation.”

“But what other spell could there be?” Remus spoke up, his brows furrowed as he racked his brain for anything regarding teleportation.

“I don’t know,” Voldemort admitted, ignoring the disbelieving looks sent his way by the aurors at the table. “But unless this Merlin is able to manipulate the wards directly without altering them then our options are limited.”

“It’s a possibility that we cannot discount,” Dumbledore agreed, a pensive look on his face as he stroked his beard in thought. “Regardless we still be investigating--”

“What was the message?” While he hadn’t intended on interrupting, Harry found his mouth moving before his brain could catch up and the main question on his mind out in the open. When everyone turned to look at him Harry wished for the second time that day he could melt into his chair.

“Good catch, my boy. I nearly forgot.” Dumbledore chuckled and dug his hands onto an expansive pocket of his robes to reveal a folded piece of parchment. “It is a curious thing,” he began vaguely, smoothing the parchment down onto the table. “The original piece was confiscated by the Unspeakables, of course, but I managed to make this copy beforehand.”

The paper was passed down the table until it reached Remus, the werewolf placing the copy between himself and Harry in order for both of them to read it. Immediately upon looking at it Harry recognized the Latin that it was written in, even if he couldn’t read it. At the bottom was a stylized signature followed by a familiar rune. “What does it say?” He asked, trying to remember where he had seen that symbol before.

“A warning… I think. Latin is not my strong suit.”

“Let me see,” Voldemort asked, raising a hand in request.

Picking up the parchment, Harry passed it over to the Dark Lord after receiving a nod from his godfather. Voldemort accepted it easily, reading it over as the other end of the table talked amongst themselves.

“Dear Minister,” he translated for Harry. “You know me by reputation, but not by name. Allow me to rectify my transgression by introduction. My name is Merlin and it is my hope that we become allies, if not in the conventional sense, but in spirit.

“As allies in spirit I impart you with this advice: do not look for me. The Enlightened few who have joined my side have given me their loyalty shall not return to you or yours. Any attempt to find them shall result in harsh punishment, for do I not suffer betrayal in any sense. Pray that do not take my advice lightly. Merlin.”

Lying the parchment flat on the table, Tom traced the symbol near the scrawled signature with a finger. “This is old Latin, not the contemporary version that is currently taught. How pretentious.”

“What is that symbol?” Harry asked once Voldemort pulled his hand away. “I’ve seen it before.”

“I should hope so,” Voldemort replied, pushing the parchment back towards Harry. “It’s the symbol of Merlin Ambrosius. It is practically slathered on every replica and fake you can find. It’s a little different than the usual symbol, though.”

Sighing, Voldemort looked at Remus. “May I have a quill and some parchment?”

Regarding the Dark Lord for a moment, Remus squeezed Harry’s shoulder before slipping from the room.

At the other end of the table Dumbledore had procured a book and what looked like a map. Moody and Shacklebolt seemed to be having another argument, the two aurors bent over the map while decidedly ignoring the other end of the of the table. That was fine with Harry as he felt he had brought enough attention to himself within a span of an hour.

“One of your friends has been acting off lately,” Voldemort mentioned, catching Harry off guard he had been watching Tonks gesture wildly with her hands.

“What?” He asked reflexively, even though he immediately knew that Voldemort was talking about Hermione. “How do you know that?”

“The Order has been keeping a close eye on her,” Voldemort explained, sitting back against his chair. “Albus believes she has been contacted by this... Merlin.”

Just as he was about to reply, Remus returned with muggle loose leaf paper and a pen. Setting it in the middle of the table, Harry watched in amusement as Voldemort made a face at the supplies given to him, but did not complain. Picking up the pen, Voldemort roughly sketched out Merlin’s symbol, but left the center empty. “Normally,” he explained, “the middle is empty. But the symbol he has given us contains the Eye of Providence.”

Having never taken Ancient Runes, the symbolism was lost of Harry which was quickly picked up by Voldemort. “Also known as the All-Seeing Eye, it usually represents the eye of God, or omniscience. It would seem he sees himself as a watcher of humankind.”

“So we have another megalomanic who thinks he’s the end-all be-all of magic,” Remus said dryly, not liking how Voldemort addressed his godson directly.

Voldemort didn’t reply, instead he dropped the pen onto the table and looked away.

“So,” Harry started, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “he just used the opportunity to show off?”

“So it would seem,” Dumbledore suddenly said, having walked over to peer at the Voldemort’s sketch. “Ah yes, the Eye of Providence. Quite the arrogant fellow, isn’t he.

“Tom,” he continued, “if I could acquire a report of the Ministry’s active wards would you be able to look for any weakness that would have allowed Merlin’s messenger to sneak through?”

“Of course,” Voldemort replied, his face once again passive. “If it is possible then a report of the magical activity around the time of the breach would be helpful as well.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The meeting dispersed soon after that after a few other less ground-shaking announcements, none that offered Harry little explanation on anything. Tonks and Shacklebolt left first, claiming their shifts were approaching. McGonagall stayed to speak quietly with Dumbledore before leaving herself, but only after levelling her strongest glare at the Dark Lord who lingered in the meeting room. Moody remained pouring over the map stretched out on the table, muttering to himself, yet some somehow had procured another beer from the kitchen when Harry had not been watching.

As soon as McGonagall left, Remus ushered Harry from the room and into the living room. Collapsing on the sofa, Harry wondered when he’d be able to leave for the Weasley’s. The most the meeting had revealed to him was that Merlin was dangerous and delusional, something he could have guessed from what Dumbledore had said before. What troubled him was what Voldemort had said about Hermione. Why hadn’t the headmaster said anything to Harry about it? He had a hard believing that his friend would accept anything from someone like Merlin, he was everything she stood against. But then, if he offered her exactly what she wanted… knowledge, the opportunity to make real change, then could Harry imagine her saying no? He wanted to believe she would, but he couldn’t deny that something was going on with the witch.

Remus followed him more smoothly, sitting down across from the younger wizard with a sigh. “Don’t think too hard,” he teased. “You might hurt yourself.”

“Ha ha,” Harry retorted, unamused. Suddenly unsure, he bit his lip in worry as he turned his head towards the werewolf. Hesitantly, he murmured, “hey, Remus…?”

Catching Harry’s tone, Remus frowned. “What is it?”

“About Hermione…”

Suddenly on edge, Remus tensed. “What about her?”

Sitting up, Harry scowled. “So it’s true, then? Merlin contacted her.”

“How did you..? Goddammit,” Remus cursed, closing his eyes and brought a hand up to his temple, as if fighting off a headache. “He told you, didn’t he.”

“Why keep it a secret? She’s my friend!”

“She’s in a very precarious position,” the lycan tried to explain. “It’s our only chance to observe someone who has been contacted by this mad man. We also have to be careful. Albus believes that she may be spying for him.”

“Hermione wouldn’t--” Cutting himself off, Harry thought back to Hermione’s behaviour over the past few months. While she had been withdrawn and unfriendly, she had been around for the most part. Except for those last few days, that is. “That’s not like her.”

“I know, Harry, and I’m sorry. The prospect of power changes people, Hermione is no different.” Looking away, Remus stuff his hands into the pockets of his worn jumper. “I’m going to get started on supper, alright?”

Harry nodded, closing his eyes and missing his godfather slip from the room. Comfortable and warm, he quickly found himself dozing off as the day caught up with him. His dreams were an unsettling mix of Hermione and the Merlin from Disney’s Sword in the Stone, standing over him laughing while Remus looking on at him sadly, but doing nothing. When he woke up, it felt considerably later than when he had fallen asleep.

Blinking, the sound of a page turning caught his attention. Instead of Remus sitting across from him like he expected sat Voldemort. His long legs were crossed at the knee, revealing patched grey socks and worn, scuffed shoes. A book balanced on his knee, Voldemort didn’t look up at him as he spoke. “You slept through dinner.”

Harry didn’t say anything, still trying to process why his former mortal enemy was sitting less than five feet away from him while he slept. Where was Remus?

“Lupin left a couple of hours ago,” the other wizard volunteered, almost as if he was reading Harry’s mind. “Albus gave him a task of ‘most secretive importance’,” he continued, his tone belying Tom didn’t believe the headmaster’s words for a moment.

Still confused and wary, Harry sat up and pulled his glasses off in order to run the rest of his nap from his eyes and clean the smudges from the lenses. “What time is it?”

“A quarter to nine.”

He slept longer than he thought. Much longer. Putting his glasses back on his face he took the moment to observe Voldemort. It was so strange to see him look relatively normal. His first memory of him was the misshapen face on the back of Quirrel’s head which contrasted greatly with the handsome youth he had met in his second year. The creature that had stepped out of the cauldron three years ago had been a combination of the two, something inhuman and frightening.

Looking at him now, Harry could see the man Tom Riddle more than he could the monster Lord Voldemort. From the clothing he wore, to the reddish-brown of his beard, he was more human than Harry had ever seen him, and that made him dangerous.

And still, he could not deny that he felt drawn to the man. As much as it had pained him, they had shared a bond - something that he knew he would never experience with anyone else again. While Voldemort’s - Tom’s - magic was returned, Harry still felt something, even if he couldn’t quite name it.

“What are you reading?” He found himself asking, noticing the bright and shiney cover of the book Tom was cradling. It was not one of the dusty tomes that lined the Black’s library, but somehow he didn’t think the Order would allow the Dark Lord to access those.

“A cookbook,” Tom admitted, closing the book with a snap. “What I am allowed to access is… limited for the time being.”

“What?” Harry snorted, finding the idea of Voldemort being reduced to reading something as mundane as a cookbook. Laughing again, Harry pressed the palm of his hand against his mouth to stifle his mirth.

Tom gave him a dry look, but placed the aforementioned book onto the coffee table. “Cooking is not my forte, so Albus thought it humorous to leave me nothing but cookbooks to read.”

Finally able to stifle his laughter, Harry shook his head as he realized how surreal the situation he was in was. The very last thing he had ever expected see see, or even think, Voldemort reading was muggle cookbooks.

An awkward silence grew between them. Tom was looking anywhere but at Harry as he picked at his nails. Not knowing what to say, or even if he wanted to say anything, Harry focused on the discarded book on the table between them. ‘Master the Art of French Cooking’ by Julia Child was worn and well-used, but the bright blue of the cover stood out against the dull colour of the room. The book reminded him of Hermione, not for the content (he wasn’t even sure if she cooked), but because the witch was seldom seen without a book of any kind.

Questions bubbled up in Harry. As much as he was being involved in this plight against Merlin, he was told so little. He remembered Remus’ words, his promise to stay away from the Dark Lord that was sitting innocently across from him, but had the werewolf realized that perhaps Voldemort wouldn’t stay away from him? If he couldn’t get the answers he wanted from the Order then perhaps Voldemort would be more accommodating. He had already told him about Hermione, so what did Harry have to lose?

“Ask your questions,” Tom said, breaking the silence and startling Harry out of his thoughts. His hands were in his lap and Harry just then noticed that the chains were missing from the manacles around the older wizard’s thin wrists.

“The chains are mostly for show,” Tom admitted, following the younger wizard’s gaze, his right hand touching the metal around his other wrist. “Most of the containment magic is in the manacles themselves.”

“You really can’t get out of those?” Harry asked, as curious as he was wary.

“Not without the key, and Albus is the only one who has it.”

‘He has long fingers’, Harry found himself thinking, then immediately kicked himself for the thought. Pulling his gaze away from Tom - Voldemort’s- hands, he instead looked just past his shoulder at the greying wall behind him. “Why are you here? I mean, why are you talking to me?”

“Besides being contrarian to Lupin, I was… curious.”

Confused, Harry frowned at the older wizard. “About what?”

Tom shrugged, suddenly looking unsure. It was a look that didn’t seem natural on the Slytherin heir. From his experience with his diary in his second year, Harry had always assumed the man arrogant and infinitely confident. The truth behind that mask was much more human than Harry expected and the thought made him uncomfortable. “Many things. I wanted to know what made you special.”

“I’m not special,” Harry countered automatically with a scowl. “Just unlucky.”

Tom huffed and shook his head with a soft smile. “Unlucky yes, but there is something about you. Just not in the way that you think.”

Choosing to ignore the Dark Lord’s implications, Harry rose to his feet to stretch the lingering drag of sleep from his limbs. “What else?”

“What makes you think there is something else?” He had that blank expression on his face again, the ‘I’m-above-you-but-think-you’re-amusing-but-I-won’t-outwardly-show-it’ face that all purebloods or Death Eaters seemed to have mastered. It was infuriating.

“There’s always something else.”

Tom didn’t say anything, but Harry got the impression that he liked his answer. Silence hung between them and Harry sat back down. He was getting hungry and had begun to contemplate relocating to the kitchen to search for left-overs when Voldemort spoke again.

“I think Merlin is going to contact you,” he started, eyes on the scar fading from Harry’s forehead. “Probably soon.”

“Why? I’m not-” Shaking his head, Harry wished he could just leave, go his own way. “I’m not like Hermione - she’s brilliant.”

“You under-sell yourself,” Tom replied, his blue eyes piercing, but didn’t elaborate. “Merlin has every reason to try and recruit you.”

“Then he’s madder than I thought,” Harry half-joked, rising to his feet and moved towards the door. “I’m, er, I’m going to get something to eat.”

Tom didn’t reply and his silence annoyed Harry. Just as he turned away and entered the hallway did the Dark Lord speak, his voice soft.

“Good night, Harry.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning the house was empty.

At least, that’s what it seemed like to Harry. Remus was still away, and as much as it pained Harry to admit it, his search for Voldemort turned up nothing as well. More doors had been locked since his last visit and his paltry attempts at casting alohomora turned up nothing. He wasn’t surprised that most doors were magically sealed. More than one room contained items that no one wanted a Dark Lord to get his hands on, even a supposedly reformed one. He had also noticed that there were no knives in the kitchen, and anything that could be considered ‘sharp’ had magically disappeared. It didn’t take a genius to understand why, but the implications still managed to unsettle him.

It occurred to him pretty quickly that one of the locked doors would be Voldemort’s room and he stopped his exploration soon after.

His morning shower turned out disappointing, but unsurprising (how did magical water heaters work, anyways?). Breakfast was little more than scrambled eggs and toast, but Harry wasn’t particularly inspired to make anything more elaborate.

He was shovelling the rest of his eggs into his mouth when Tom stepped into the kitchen. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, but had pulled his long hair into a messy bun. Harry gaped at the older man for a moment before shoving his fork into his mouth before he said something stupid.

At the sight of Harry, Tom frowned but didn’t said anything as he filled the kettle before settling it on the stove to heat. Harry watched from the corner of his eye as the older wizard leaned against the counter, a pensive expression on his face.

“I don’t suppose you saw anyone this morning, did you?” Tom asked, curious.

“No,” Harry replied as he dropped his fork onto the plate.

“Odd. There is usually at least two aurors here at all times.” Pushing his thin body away from the counter, Tom padded over to the ice box. “I wonder if something happened.”

Suddenly nervous that Voldemort was correct, Harry pushed his plate away from him. As much as Dumbledore seemed to believe that Tom had changed, the idea that he was alone with him inside Grimmauld Place made him uneasy. Remus hadn’t really gone over the precautions taken to keep Voldemort there, but something terrible must have happened to leave the two of them alone.  
Just then the house shook with what sounded like the front door slamming open and dozens of foot pounded on the aged, wooden floors. Startled, Harry looked towards the ceiling as dust rained down over them, coating the kitchen in dirt. Coughing, Harry waved the air in front of him as he lamented his shower.

“Harry?” Remus’ voice called down from the staircase followed by the creak of the stairs.

“Yeah?” Harry called back, pulling off his glasses to wipe the them clean with the underside of his shirt.

Appearing in the doorway, Remus stopped suddenly when his eyes shifted from his honorary-godson to the Dark Lord less than six feet away from him. Tension radiated off of the werewolf, his fists clenched and ready to snarl.

Instead he sneezed.

His eyes wide, Harry watched as the dust in the air sent the former professor into a sneezing fit. When laughter sounded behind him, he whipped his head around to stare as Tom Riddle watched in amusement, a hand covering his mirthful mouth.

Composing himself, Remus pinched the bridge of his nose as he steadfastly ignored the chuckling Dark Lord.

When the fireplace in the kitchen rumbled ominously, three sets of eyes were drawn to the crumbling stone-work. Soot puffed from the opening, followed by a belch of fire as the kitchen was showered with hot green dust.

“I thought only Dumbledore could use the floo here?” Harry commented, just in time for something round and small to rocket out of the floo and ricochet off the wall.

As Remus dove for him to drag him to the ground, Harry watched as Tom made an abortive motion, no doubt to reach for a wand that he no longer had. Instead, he grabbed a heavy cast-iron pan to brandish and Harry wondered what the hell was going on in his life.

When nothing exploded, Remus slowly uncovered his godson from where he had been covering him, his wand in hand. “What is that?”

The item in question seemed to be a large marble. It was ivory and smooth, and when Harry squinted at it he startled when the ball moved on its own to focus on them. A blue iris stared down at them and Harry felt the solid weight of dread grow in his stomach.

“Is that…?” Harry asked quietly, remembering the last time he saw Moody, hunched over a map on the floor above them, just the evening prior.

“Moody.” Remus confirmed, his voice grim. “We couldn’t contact him earlier.”

With the pan still in hand, Tom crouched down beside Moody’s magical eye. Balancing the pan on his lap, he observed the enchanted item. “It would seen that Alastor Moody managed to find Merlin after all, but did not survive the meeting.”

“No,” Remus shook his head, his body stiff as his already pale complexion blanched further. “This doesn’t mean he’s dead. It could just be a warning, or another message.”

Almost right on cue, the floo activated again, but instead of soot that shot forward was a mass of red. Positioned almost directly in front of the fireplace, Tom barely had time to raise his arm with the pan before he was hit. His grunt of surprise could hardly be heard over the roar of the fireplace, blood bursting from the grate following by what Harry could only describe as pieces.

Remus and Harry stared in horror as they watched what could only be a murder scene come through the floo. Then, the smell hit. The scent of copper flooded the room and Harry’s stomach rolled. Covering his mouth with his hand, Harry stumbled back as the scrambled eggs he had for breakfast threatened to come back up.

Behind him, footsteps thundered down the stairs as Order members filled the kitchen only to witness a blood-soaked Dark Lord rise from his crouching position. Wands pointed automatically at Tom as the witches and wizards gasped in horror at the scene, and Dedalus Diggle promptly fainted.

“Explain. Now!” Shacklebolt demanded, the seasoned auror eerily calm as the non-aurors of the group turned various shades of pale and green.

Tom sighed and dropped the pan, the heavy metal clanging heavily on the cracked tile of the floor. Slowly, he raised a hand to his face to wipe the dripping blood away from his mouth before speaking. “Alastor Moody is what happened.”

“The floo,” Remus offered, the werewolf only slightly green as he pressed the material of his jumper against his face. “It all came through the floo.”

“Why is he covered in blood?” The auror barked as he slowly edged further into the kitchen, his eyes and wand never leaving the Dark Lord. Tom, on the other hand, was staring forlorning at his ruined shirt.

“Unfortunate positioning,” Tom replied, seemingly unworried that a dozen wands were pointed at him.

Following his godfather’s cue, Harry pulled his shirt up over his nose and pressed between the bodies of the Order in order to distance himself from the kitchen. Reaching the stairs, he slowly sat down on a step and closed his eyes, willing his breakfast to stay in his stomach. As much as he tried to empty his thoughts, the vision of the mass of red and lumps of what were obviously body-parts, Moody’s body parts, was still fresh in his mind, and his stomach rolled violently.

When a gentle hand touched his shoulder, Harry looked up to meet Dumbledore’s concerned eyes.

“Are you alright, Harry?” The elderly wizard asked, the day’s events evident on his weathered face. There was a sadness settling in his blue eyes that Harry only remembered seeing a few times and it further struck the severity of the situation into him.

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry just shook his head.

Nodding in understanding, Dumbledore squeezed Harry’s shoulder before continuing forward, the Order parting for him as he entered the kitchen. A gesture from the headmaster had everyone’s wands lowered, though some were more reluctant than others. Silently, Dumbledore regarded the remains of what once used to be Alastor Moody solemnly, his wise eyes shifting from the pieces of the auror on the floor to Tom.

Having snagged a towel, Tom was in the process of wiping his face and hands clean when Dumbledore stepped forward. Sharing a look, Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Everyone, please. Let’s reconvene upstairs. Much needs to be said and discussed.”

Slowly the Order made their way back upstairs, moving around Harry as they ascended until only Harry, Remus, Dumbledore and Tom remained. Though his stomach no longer threatened to reintroduce him to his breakfast, the heavy scent of iron in the air insured that Harry wouldn’t forget the smell in his lifetime.

“Come on, Harry.” Remus ushered, quickly moving to Harry’s side to guide him up the stairs and away from the carnage.

Letting himself be tugged away, distantly noting the hidden strength behind Remus’ grip, Harry took a deep breath as the stale scent of Grimmauld place filled his lungs. It was a welcome change from the overwhelming scent of blood that thankfully didn’t follow the two of them upstairs.

Instead, Dumbledore took up the rear, following them silently,

Where Tom was, Harry didn’t know.

The solemn faces that greeted them reminded Harry that something else had happened, something unrelated to Moody, but probably related to Merlin.

“Albus,” Shacklebolt started. The auror seemed more put-together than the others and Harry wondered what sort of things that man had seen during his time as an auror. “This escalates everything that we knew about Merlin. We knew he was dangerous, but what happened today… the man is a psychopath.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore sighed. Sitting in his chair at the head of the table, Dumbledore had never seemed so old to Harry. “I’m afraid I have greatly underestimated him and it has cost us greatly.”

“What are we going to do?” Harry wasn’t sure who spoke- the room was packed full of Order members, more than he had ever seen together in one room. Him and Remus were standing in the doorway, close enough to listen, but too far to participate.

“What happened?” Harry whispered to Remus as he stood on his tip-toes to see over the shoulder of the person standing in front of him. The pointed hat did not help at all and Harry settled back on his feet, defeated.

“I’ll tell you after,” Remus gently hushed him.

“For now, all we can do is wait. We still have very little information regarding this Merlin. Acting without the proper preparation has cost us dearly.” Dumbledore’s words seemed to satisfy the group. Promises for further plans were passed around, but Harry ignored it in favour of following Remus, who was tugging gently at his elbow.

Harry followed him into the living room. Collapsing onto the worn couch with a shaky sigh, Remus tiredly ran his hands over his face. “Merlin made an appearance at the Ministry early this morning,” he began. “He brought the three Unspeakable agents that had been sent to investigate him. He brought them back in pieces.”

“Oh.” Blanching, Harry sat down beside his honorary godfather.

“Even at the height of his power, Voldemort never - not to speak good about him - but he never did anything like this.” Remus admitted, looking pained to do so. “Merlin, he said ‘I gave you warning’ and just pulled the remains out from out of nowhere, like he had shrunk them and was just keeping them in his pocket.”

“What I’m more concerned about was how he was able to send Alastor Moody through the floo.”

Jumping to his feet, Remus scowled at Tom who was lounging against the open doorway. The Dark Lord had changed clothing, his trousers and shirt even more ill-fitting and worn than what he was wearing before. His hair was damp and hastily combed out of his face, not a drop of red in sight, but Harry couldn’t get the imagine of him covered in Moody’s blood out of his head. He turned away.

“True,” the werewolf begrudgingly agreed. “If he can send something here through the floo, what’s stopping him from coming himself?”

“Exactly. I can only surmise that the only thing that’s stopping him from doing so is the fact that, before now, he’s never had a reason to.”

And wasn’t that a chilling thought. If Merlin had a way to get past a Fidelius charm and the anti-apparition wards at the Ministry, then nowhere was safe. What stopped him from invading Hogwarts, or attacking the Ministry at large? He already demonstrated his power, but they still didn’t really know what he wanted.

It was a thought that followed Harry to the Burrow later that night, surrounded by laughter and warmth- a stark difference from the sombre atmosphere that permeated Grimmauld Place’s walls like mold.

The whole thing felt like a dream to Harry. Hermione’s abrupt personality change; Voldemort’s bizarre civility; plus one extremely powerful wizard claiming to be Merlin. The whole thing seemed like one of Dudley's action films that he was so fond of. Unrealistic. Not real.

And it wouldn’t be until he was back at Hogwarts, the first morning back, that he would get his rude awakening.

**Author's Note:**

> http://ladydraculea.tumblr.com/


End file.
